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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877302">nouveau riche tom riddle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbriars/pseuds/greenbriars'>greenbriars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, Interior Decorating, M/M, Why Did I Write This?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:48:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbriars/pseuds/greenbriars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The newly appointed Minister for Magic purchases a house and inflicts his horrifying taste upon it. His loving husband suffers and schemes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>nouveau riche tom riddle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/epanouiii/gifts">epanouiii</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thanks for asking me about this on tumblr and motivating me to just post it</p><p>as an aside, i know we all like to read about cultured sophisticate tom riddle who only drinks chateau lafite-rothschild and shits foie gras from geese that are exclusively fed piedmont hazelnuts but you know what he probably has the worst taste and everyone is too frightened / in awe of him to tell him otherwise. luckily for him harry loves him terribly and has his own means of influence.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"My love," Lord Thomas Marvolo Gaunt croons, as he guides his husband across the threshold on their new townhouse. "Welcome to our new home."</p><p>Harry Potter-Gaunt laughs, plucking ineffectually at his husband's hands, which are clasped firmly over his eyes. "Is all the cloak-and-dagger really necessary?" he teases.</p><p>"Not for much longer," the newly minted Minister assures him, just as the last of his minions bows low and exits the house—too quickly, Harry thinks, his head canting towards the sound. </p><p>"Alright," Tom says, his hands slipping down to grasp Harry's shoulders.</p><p>Vivid green eyes take in their surroundings, and Harry gasps.</p><p>"Oh, Tom," he breathes, aglow. Literally. "It's... brilliant."</p><p>And it is. </p><p>Above them squats a hulking great chandelier, dripping with pearls and crystals and reflecting entirely an excess of morning sun. It illuminates the rococo wallpaper, which is so gaudy and overdone that Harry can't look at it for too long. His eyes skim over it as fast as politely possible; the baby blue clashes something awful with the silver and gold curtains.</p><p>Tom misinterprets his choked noise as a gasp.</p><p>"Isn't it wonderful?" Tom asks, proudly. "And as you can see, I thought about you every step of the way."</p><p>Unfortunately, he says this while gesturing towards a hideous marble bust at the foot of the staircase of—yes, Tom and Harry locked in amorous embrace. Harry sucks in a pained breath.</p><p>"I've never seen anything like it," Harry truthfully answers, squinting. He wants to set the statue on fire. </p><p>"Let me show you the rest of the house!"</p><p>The rest of the house is worse.</p><p>There’s something ostentatious on nearly every single available surface. Gold-edged tables, gold furniture frames, gold chairs; the architectural finishes in granite and lush, sumptuous fabrics. Marble inlays and damasks and mirrors are used to heighten the insistent character of every room. Even the bathrooms have not been spared: Tom intends for them to do their business on gilded toilet seats. </p><p>He throws open their shared, walk-in wardrobe, and Harry nearly suffers a stroke. There is gold thread on all his robes except the most austere ones, meant for hearings with the Wizengamot, and all his accessories are studded with diamonds. There is a belt made from the pelt of a cockatrice. He pulls open a drawer to reveal two hundred sets of increasingly flashy cufflinks: mermaid scales, the shimmery shell of a dragon’s egg—and is that last one a miniature<em> Time Turner</em>?</p><p>Harry recalls with dismay the day Tom proposed with the Gaunt heirloom, a hideous, black-and-gold monstrosity. Harry had made the dreadful mistake of disparaging it by quipping, “Thanks, but can I get this in a smaller size?”</p><p>His proud, ridiculous husband had sulked for days until Harry discreetly shrunk it down himself and had it fitted into a more appropriate, white-gold claw setting.</p><p>The centrepiece of their bedroom is a circular bed on a revolving platform, and the ceiling is a mirror, with trompe l'œil on the four corners. Fat cherubs stare down at them from the walls, giggling.</p><p>It's all deeply unnerving, like someone had a fever dream of the palace of Versailles and threw up all over a respectable English townhouse. And yet, somehow all the awful design choices fail to diminish Tom's allure. The rooms positively mould themselves around him, and almost make him shine all the brighter. </p><p>But then again, Tom would be stunning anywhere.</p><p>Harry has to give credit where credit is due. There are thoughtful, functional elements to the design, like the room with the massive fireplace, an archway of sturdy brick curving just over his head. It was clearly crafted so that Tom won't have to stoop when taking the Floo, and Harry can stop accidentally smacking the tops of his broomsticks against the mantel. Harry looks at it and marvels at how he spent so many years ducking into cramped, sooty little fireplaces. </p><p>Tom leads Harry past the enormous library with the bookshelves craning up towards the ceiling, and then tugs him eagerly over to a relatively nondescript door.</p><p>"Open it."</p><p>Harry does, with great trepidation.</p><p>"Oh," he says softly.</p><p>The door opens out to a verdant expanse. </p><p>Harry takes in the springy green turf and the cloudless, blue sky stretching as far as the eye can see. The air holds the crisp freshness of a spring shower. Crowning the horizon is a familiar trio of hoops. </p><p>"You got me my own Quidditch field?" he whispers.</p><p>"Well, yes," Tom says pragmatically. "Practice makes perfect, you know."</p><p>Harry melts, and, in the process, fails to notice the triple-monkstrap dragon-hide seven league boots placed neatly by the door. </p><p>It's not <em>all</em> terrible—they certainly have the space for some of the less gaudy ornamentation, like the lampshades made of basilisk scales—it's just... so...</p><p>And then Tom's beloved snake slithers in, wearing a bedazzled collar.</p><p>"What did you do to Nagini?" he moans, and Nagini hisses in pained sympathy, and as more of her serpentine form is revealed, Harry realises it's more than just a collar; Nagini is wearing a full-length bejewelled sheath. It's blinding.</p><p>
  <em>Master, this is so uncomfortable. Please take it off.</em>
</p><p>"It's what she deserves!" Tom detaches himself from Harry's side, cooing. "Doesn't she look stunning? Yes, you do, you beautiful serpent you."</p><p>Nagini ignores him, irate, and coils herself around Harry's ankle. A distinct air of resentment radiates from her emerald form. </p><p>Realising a lost cause when he sees one, Harry changes tack. He presses a kiss to the smooth hollow of Tom's cheek, and watches with rueful fascination as it instantly pinkens. "This is so much, darling. I'm so happy you've found a space you're entirely comfortable expressing yourself in."</p><p>Is it possible for someone to be <em>too </em>comfortable in their own home? </p><p>"Thank you," Tom says, pulling him close and kissing him soundly, and, despite the riotous colours and Nagini's hiss of betrayal, Harry leans into it. Tom tastes dark and sweet, like fine chocolate, and their mouths fit together so perfectly they could have been designed that way.</p><p>Presently, Harry detaches himself from Tom's python-grip, and eases himself away. "I'll be just a minute, dearest," he calls, as he scrambles down the stairs.</p><p>He throws open the front door and takes a shaky, relieved breath. <em>Finally</em>, he thinks, putting distance between him and Tom's flashy, rococo house. His head had been starting to spin at all that eye-watering interior design.</p><p>Lucius Malfoy is waiting outside, looking profoundly uncomfortable, and sweating despite the mild weather.</p><p>"<em>You</em>," Harry hisses, stalking forward and fisting the man's robes. "You were supposed to keep him under control!"</p><p>"M—my lord, I <em>tried</em>." Lucius cowers. "Did you think I didn't try? Who do you think is responsible for the comparably moderate living room and—and all the tasteful mahogany furniture?"</p><p>"The Prophet is coming in two days, and I will not have my husband made a laughing-stock of!" he spits, eyes going fierce. He shakes the man, hard, until his teeth click in his mouth.</p><p>"Darling," Tom calls from the doorway, looking so tall and unfairly handsome he makes Harry's heart hurt. "What do you think about matching embossed bath towels?"</p><p>"Fix it," Harry hisses at Lucius, taking his husband's arm and steering him away. "Or I will tell... Narcissa."</p><p>"<em>Narcissa</em>?" Lucius squeaks, going paper-white.</p><p>#</p><p>Things come to a head when Tom brings a stuffed unicorn head—he had ordered them in different sizes, and now had an extra on his hands—into Malfoy Manor and tries to get it mounted.</p><p>"Okay," Lucius says, mopping at his brow. "Okay, okay. I'll fix it."</p><p>"Good," Harry snarls through his smiling teeth.</p><p>#</p><p>"What did he do?" Tom moans at the sight of his newly and sneakily redone place.</p><p>Privately, Harry thinks Malfoy should be rewarded. Handsomely.</p><p>Or at least not strung up by his toes and left overnight. </p><p>The chandelier has been replaced with one of an appropriate size. Harry breathes a sigh of relief to see the rococo wallpaper has been trimmed back to one wall on the second floor drawing room. The walls have been repainted in muted colours, cool blues and dark greens, with warm, natural finishes that project a sense of serenity and simplicity. Cunningly hidden globes of light give the room a soft glow. Here and there are sprays of wall plants, and over the couch is a throw that Harry had bought when he went to Turkey last year for a practice Quidditch match. Harry traces a hand over the full-wood grain panelling with the cream accents and sighs with pleasure. The whole place looks cozy and lived in.</p><p>Unfortunately, the revolving bed remains.</p><p>"It's fine, darling; look, you can still have your gold toilet seats in our private bath! That's not so bad, is it?"</p><p>Tom makes a desolate sound, his eyes fixed on the wall clock with the diamond-studded hands that Lucius had evidently missed. The hand labelled 'Tom' is pointed towards 'In Distress'.</p><p>"My love, listen," Harry tries again, taking his husband's gorgeous face in his hands. "Your minions don't deserve to sit on gold toilet seats, do they?"</p><p>"No, I suppose not," Tom says, screwing his eyes up at the thought.</p><p>"Exactly. And do they really need to see a marble statue of you kissing a very indecent me as soon as they walk into our house?"</p><p>"It's goblin quartz," Tom corrects. After a moment of thought, he mumbles, "No. You're mine."</p><p>"Yes, I'm yours, and yours <em>alone</em>. Isn't that right?"</p><p>"Yes." Tom's breathing starts to level out. "Fine, I see what you mean. But do you really like this design? You really won't mind living in this bland, boring place?"</p><p>And Tom looks so terribly worried and upset that Harry finds himself feigning resignation. "It's fine, darling. I think once we fill it with our belongings it'll really start to feel like home."</p><p>But Tom still looks disgruntled and miserable, and in a terrible moment of weakness Harry recalls how excited he had been, how insistently he had kept it a secret, squirrelling away all the messages from the interior designers and keeping the blueprints under lock and key. </p><p>"Besides," he says, placing a kiss to the back of Tom's hand. "<em>You</em> are my home."</p><p>And he brushes his mouth across his palm, his fingers, the webbing between his thumb and index, until the furrow between Tom's brows disappears and his husband is gazing at him with a look of simple wonder. His hand curls along Harry's jaw, and he pulls him forward for a proper kiss.</p><p>And Harry cracks. Just a little.</p><p>He hugs him, as tight as he can, carding his fingers through smooth locks. And then, trying not to despise himself, he adds, "And if you really hate it, we can always redecorate."</p><p>"Okay," Tom says, brightening up impossibly. </p><p>
  <em>Oh, Morgana have mercy.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tom riddle grew up poor in the muggle world and his comfort food is a greggs sausage roll</p><p>sorry about the crack, we'll be back to our regular Serious™️ posts next week. (although how serious can a cheerleading au be?)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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